


oh, what a world!

by wearemany



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-24
Updated: 2007-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearemany/pseuds/wearemany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I wonder," Lex says, his throat dry. If you would. If I want to. If I have to ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh, what a world!

**Author's Note:**

> _Men reading fashion magazines  
>  Oh what a world it seems we live in  
> Straight men!  
> Oh, what a world we live in_

Three more weeks of distribution numbers and Lex can call it a day. Shower, change, call Caty or Serena or Lennox and convince whoever answers first that it's possible his very sanity is at stake if she doesn't skip out on her girlfriends and meet him for a drink.

Maybe he should call before he showers. More time for her to make up a lie and change into something sneakily sexy before heading to ladies' night. On the other hand, it's going to take him ninety minutes to get to Metropolis and Serena in particular has the sort of weakness for spontaneous seduction that is lethally taxed by having to wait.

"Hey Lex." Clark is standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his jeans pockets. Lex lays his pen down.

"Clark."

"I was just dropping off some vegetables."

"Did Mrs. Hanover forget to leave out the order for next week?"

"Oh. No. I just thought I'd come say hi. And, um." Clark looks down at his feet and then back up. "Make sure you like zucchini."

"Zucchini. Depends on how it's served."

"My mom says they're practically spawning themselves this year, so as long as you like them, I'll leave the extras she threw in."

Lex checks the time on the small platinum clock on the edge of his desk. Henry Miller said all growth is a leap in the dark, a spontaneous unpremeditated act without the benefit of experience. Clark is 17 but he's not ready for Henry Miller. "That's very generous," he says instead.

"That's what you say now." Clark's face is flushed, bright round spots in the hollow under each diagonal cheekbone. Either the girls in Smallville are idiots or the meteor shower retarded their vision.

"I'm sure they're delicious." Lex shuffles his production reports into a neat pile and closes the folder. He's done working for the night. "Do you always have to make deliveries on a Friday night?"

Clark shakes his head. "You're my last stop," he says, taking two steps forward.

"Clark?"

"I was just." Clark takes another step, big boots loud on the thin carpet, in the quiet mansion that swallows noise like a black hole. "What time is it?" Clark asks, reaching for the desk clock.

"Almost six --" Lex starts, but Clark knocks the timepiece off the corner.

Clark jerks his hand out, like he's going to be able to catch it in time, and then pulls his arm back. The metal casing thuds dully on the floor and the glass shatters. Clark is standing next to the desk, and Lex turns in his chair.

"It's okay," Lex says, "it's just --" something he'd picked up in Switzerland, accurate to within a second a year.

Clark crouches down, big hands picking through the loose gears. "God, Lex, I'm so sorry," he says. His neck is bent, sloping into the stretched-out collar of his t-shirt, and he's shaking his head at himself. "I'm really --" He looks up through his eyelashes.

"I didn't even like it," Lex says. Clark is still squatting with his legs open, one hand on his thigh to keep his balance. He looks back at the mess of broken clock on the floor and then at Lex again. He starts to stand up and Lex's hands come down off the desk, down onto Clark's shoulders.

Down. He pushes down. He can't decide why he's doing it, and then it's done.

Clark is on his knees, half under the desk, between Lex's legs. Clark looks up with his mouth half-open and then back down at himself, at his body, on the precipice of some great fall. He licks his lips. Lex watches as if it is a faraway tableaux, Clark beautiful and perfect and frozen, surprised but not horrified.

"I wonder," Lex says, his throat dry. If you would. If I want to. If I have to ask.

Clark shifts, settling down back on his heels, and Lex catches himself slouching in his chair. And then Clark's hands are on his waist, tight, pinning him down and holding him still, and Clark's mouth is pressed to his pants. It's a hot, pneumatic pressure, breath seeping through the filter of fabric, and his hand comes up to the warm soft skin of Clark's neck.

Clark exhales in a humid gust, the edge of a tsunami, and then his tongue draws a line over Lex's cock, jaw wide and sucking. It's a muffled movement, like eating a peach through a towel.

Clark raises his eyes and his mouth is red against gray pants turning slick and black, wet like the rainy reflection of a stoplight on an empty road, hundred miles an hour, Lex wants a car like Clark, jesus. He grips the back of Clark's neck harder than he means to, and it's possible he moans.

Clark pulls away and catches a breath, fingers still squeezing at Lex's hips. He looks like he wants to swallow but doesn't know it yet and Lex digs the nails of his other hand into Clark's collar.

"Is this --" Clark's tongue flicks against the corner of his mouth.

Sure. Yes. Please. Lex nods.

Clark smiles like a headlight and asks, "Can I?"

Hysteria bears down like a runaway train. This isn't about money or power or rich kids with nothing else to do on a Saturday night but use their bodies for entertainment. There's no reason a guy like Clark should be sucking Lex off, other than that he wants to, and oh, how Lex wants him to want to.

"I want, yes," Lex says, and then Clark is unzipping, unfolding Lex's pants like an envelope, like an engraved invitation and Lex has never in his life been shy about sex like he is at this moment. He can say the word please in eight, maybe ten languages, but none of them can describe what is happening here.

Clark bends his head and it's a contact high, wetter and hotter through one thin layer and Lex hates his clothing, despises the dress rehearsal tease and every micron of interference between his skin and Clark's lips. He holds tight to Clark's hair, raw silk, almost sharp in contrast to the dulled friction of Clark's mouth.

He runs a hand over the long angles of Clark's cheekbones, across his jaw, down his throat. He splays his fingers wide around the side of Clark's neck and his thumb climbs back up, hooks into Clark's chin, pulling his jaw open more and away.

Clark holds Lex's hips down and Lex holds Clark's mouth open, not letting him get Lex's thumb in his mouth because this is just a parlor game and Lex is ready for the lights to come down, for the opera to begin. His underwear is losing the slow crawl race, his dick is pushing at the waistband, and with the hand that's not still holding Clark open, he pulls himself out.

Clark gasps and the inhalation makes Lex shiver, a breeze on damp skin. Clark swallows hard, his jaw slipping from Lex's grip, and Lex doesn't know anything except how much he wants this. "Do it," he says, trying to thrust forward and pull Clark to him and he can't make Clark do anything he doesn't want to, but Lex asks anyway, says, "Please, do it please."

And Clark does. And it's not as if Lex has never gotten a blowjob before, but never from a guy who could bend him in half like a cheap fork. Lex has never been blown by a guy at all, not yet, hadn't gotten around to it because no matter how diverse in genders the sex shows at a penthouse party there were always a few beautiful brunettes within arm reach.

This isn't like that carefully staged sin at all, though Clark doesn't seem to need to breathe at all, which makes up for what he's clearly never done before. Lex has never been so happy to have been such a lazy and predictable sexual explorer before. Empires have risen and fallen in the time since Clark went down, eras of sloppy sucking and lazy licking and just behind his right ear Clark has a perfect brown disc of a mole.

He looks up again, eyes wide and shocked and joyous. Clark wants this, he wanted to stumble and fall and shove his face against Lex's cock, he would have asked if he'd had any idea how. He wants this, looks like a beatific apostle hearing chords from on high, and Lex has no idea what peace he's made with the world to deserve the focus of such a fervent convert.

Clark's t-shirt is tight across his shoulderblades as his head slides up and down, his back sloped and through the glass desk Lex can see where the shirt has come untucked from Clark's jeans. If he fucks Clark from behind it will be nothing like a small woman's hips covered by his own. It will be like scaling a mountain, an earthquake of flesh and muscle rolling beneath him as he clings and tries not to be bucked off. It will be unbearable abundance.

He gasps and comes in Clark's mouth, registering dimly through the rush of blood in his head that Clark is moaning, mewling, growling as he pulls off, pushing Lex's chair back against the bookcase behind it. He climbs on top of Lex, possessing his lap and chest and all the air in the room with an uncompromising demand to be accommodated. Lex tilts his neck back and lets Clark kiss him, shivering as Clark's broad fingers hold his chin and trail down his arm and seize his hand and cup it around Clark's hot jeans.

Clark is blisteringly hard, from this, from kissing and sucking Lex in the library on an ordinary Friday night, remarkable only for their spontaneous invention of new worlds. Lex is trapped in his office chair, held prisoner by six feet of willing and able Clark. When Lex breathes in deeply their bodies both rise and Clark balances his weight with one hand on the wall behind them. "I've never done that," Lex says, and Clark laughs softly against his cheekbone.

"Sure, Lex," he says. He licks Lex's neck and squeezes his fingers over Lex's on his crotch.

"Not yet I hadn't. It was a leap in the dark." It is the most he can manage in this state.

Clark blinks. "A what? The lights are still on."

"The first," Lex says. "The first time I --"

Clark looks dubiously elated and Lex can't find any more words to plead his innocence. It doesn't really matter.

He bends his head to Clark's shoulder and bites where the tendon ties his head to his body. He whispers into Clark's ear, "I'm going to fuck you upstairs," and Clark slides off, falling back onto his knees. Lex stands, ignores the shaking in his knees and hauls Clark up by the collar. "Up," he says. "Go."

**Author's Note:**

> Rufus is the patron saint of not-yet-gay men. Henry Miller's middle name is Valentine. Punk was patient and owns every Lex I write. His ass is hers.


End file.
